Page 59 of Exquisite Things

All four of us. Jack, ancient. Archie, approaching middle age. Me and Bram, eternally seventeen. “Look at my forehead. The

wrinkles. The lines of cruelty seared into my lips.” With a sharp fingernail, he traces a line above the curl of his top lip.

“This appeared after I betrayed your cousin Brendan,” he says with his eyes on me. “I saw it appear with each passing night

of guilt.”

“You?” I dare to say. “ Guilt? I don’t believe it.”

He turns rapidly toward us, the mirror now reflecting the spotted skin of his bald scalp and neck. The hunch of his shoulders.

“Believe it. Why do you think Brendan was readmitted to Harvard? Who do you think gave the generous donation that convinced the school to take him back?”

“I—I didn’t know,” I stammer.

“Brendan didn’t know either,” Jack says curtly.

“I certainly never told him. I didn’t do it for his gratitude.

I did it to wipe the guilt from my face.

But it never left. When I was young, I looked impish, mischievous.

The boys found me attractive. I looked like trouble in the best way. Now I just look old.”

Bram steps forward. “What do you want, Jack?”

Jack smiles. “Isn’t it obvious? I want what you have. The only thing worth having. Eternal youth.”

“Eternal youth?” Archie gasps.

Jack cackles. “For that, I would give anything. My soul, even.”

“Do you still have a soul?” I ask.

Jack shrugs. “Don’t ask unanswerable questions. What I’m asking has an answer. How?”

Bram and I look to each other again. What do we do?

Jack raises his voice. “TELL ME HOW.”

“Jack, please.” Bram speaks softly. Carefully. “I’ll tell you everything, but let Oliver and Archie go. They have nothing

to do with it.”

Jack’s face hardens. A merciless mask. “If Oliver has nothing to do with it, then why does he look just as he did when I last

saw him over sixty years ago?”

Archie’s breathing quickens. He blinks too rapidly. Rubs his eyes. Like he’s hoping it’s all a hallucination. “Sixty— That

was... Long before I was...”

Bram raises his arms up in supplication. “It was all me, Jack. Let them go and we can talk. I made Oliver this way. He knows

nothing. Let him and Archie go and I’ll tell you everything.”

Jack’s lips curl. “I don’t think so.” He shifts the blade a little closer to Archie’s throat. “Archie here is the only one

I can use to make you talk. I’m not sure my weapon has any power over you. Does it?”

“Jack, please,” I beg.

“Can you still die?” Jack asks. “Shall I slash one of you and find out?”

“NO!” Archie screeches.

Jack laughs. He’s enjoying this. “Life has been so boring for so long. My wife is ill. My children are waiting for me to die

so they can take over the company. This is already making me feel like the young man I truly am again. And when you tell me

your secret—”

Bram interrupts. “Even if I did tell you the secret, it’s too late to help you. The pages, they don’t make you young, I don’t

think.”

“What pages?” Jack asks. “Is there some scientific formula written on them?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Bram explains.

“Then what is it like?” Jack bellows in frustration. “Do you realize how much humanity is suffering? How many people could

benefit from whatever gave you this power?”

“It’s not power,” I say. “It’s a curse.” Jack looks at me curiously. His eyes tell me to go on. “I wouldn’t wish this upon

my biggest enemy. I wouldn’t wish it upon you.”

“Am I your enemy, baby boy ?” he asks, using my old nickname. Two words that send me reeling back in time.

“I always liked you, Jack.” I try to sound convincing by remembering the pieces of him I did enjoy in moderation. “You were

fabulous. Bold. Wickedly funny.”

“All I was, it turns out, was young.” He bows his head down. “I tried to remain bold. I’ve tried to help people. To make medicines

that will alleviate their pain.”

Years of headlines about the company flow through my head. New medicines. Questionable practices. Audacious experiments. Unmitigated greed. The rise and rise of Whitman & Whitman.

“Help people?” I ask. “Don’t you price your medicines so only the wealthy have access to them?”

“How else would we fund research into the next miracle cures?”

“You mean the next gift to the rich and powerful.” I remember something else. Something horrific. “You... You tested medicine

on prisoners without their consent, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t seem bothered by the accusation. “They were criminals. This was a way for them to pay their debt to society.”

“Not every prisoner is a criminal,” Bram says sadly. I know he’s thinking of Lily’s Uncle Alton. Of the countless people thrown

in prison all over the world for having the wrong skin color, loving the wrong gender.

“We were criminals when we met,” I add. “According to the unjust laws of the time. But you already knew that. Not that you

paid a price like the rest of them.”

“Look at my face to see the price I paid. I’m hideous.” I want to despise him, but a part of me also feels sorry for him.

Unhappiness is indeed etched onto his face. “At least I know it. I’m aware I don’t have a face aged with warmth. The face

of a beloved grandparent. Wise and sweet and sexless. No, my cheeks are hollow. My life is hollow. Cold blue veins line my

skin. Every bit of me is twisted out of shape.”

“That’s just your physical appearance,” Bram says. “All that could change if you just... opened yourself up to love. It’s

never too late for love.”

Jack laughs like the devil himself. “You’re such a fool.

Of course it’s too late for love. Unless you tell me your secret.

I promise not to experiment on prisoners.

No, this time, I’ll experiment on myself.

And once I’ve perfected the science and returned to my youthful form, I’ll bring it to market. ”

“So you’re doing this to be young again and to profit?” I ask. “My God, is there no end to your greed? Whitman and Whitman is already one of the biggest companies in

the—”

Archie’s body suddenly shivers. A little earthquake inside him. He freezes up as he repeats the words, “Whitman and Whitman?”

Archie doesn’t seem afraid of the blade grazing his neck anymore. “You— You experimented with ways to cure homosexuality,

didn’t you?”

Jack shrugs. “We experiment with ways to cure everything .”

“Lobotomies,” Archie says. I turn to Bram, confused. “Shock therapy.” When Archie says those words, his body vibrates again.

A small seizure. A memory relived.

“Ah, so it didn’t work for you?” Jack says. “Well, we can’t all be cured.”

“Look at you,” I snap. “You’re a lecherous old man stalking gay clubs in foreign cities. You’re not cured.”

“My wife would beg to differ,” Jack says coolly.

“You—” Archie releases a deep exhale. “You experimented with implanting the testicles of corpses into gay men.”

Jack waves a limp wrist in the air. “It was worth a try. We made sure the corpses were heterosexual. Besides, if a person

doesn’t want to be gay, shouldn’t they have the option? Just as one wants to rid themselves of a headache? Or diarrhea?”

Archie’s face goes beet red. “Being gay is not a headache. And the people who were subjected to your evil experiments didn’t choose it.

They were forced into it by their hateful parents who think like you.

” Archie sighs sadly. “Some of them didn’t get out in time like I did.

Some of them were lobotomized. Operated on.

For what? Perhaps you’re not the serial killer preying on London boys, but you did prey on gay boys. You did so much harm. To us. To me.”

I see tears in Bram’s eyes. “Archie, I didn’t know. I’m... I’m so sorry.”

“No boo-hoo backstories, right?” Archie says sardonically.

I feel my own eyes well up too. For Archie. For me and Bram. For all of us. The ones who are nothing but pawns to the Jackals

of the world. “Archie, what you suffered—”

Archie raises a hand up. “Not another word.” Then, “We all had our secrets, as it turns out. Now they’re out in the open.

So what do we do?”

“That’s up to these two,” Jack says, cocking his head toward me and Bram. “All they need to do is tell me the secret that

matters.”

“So you can gain more power and make more money!” I shout.

Jack looks at me like I’m a toddler. “ Baby boy ,” he says. “Greed is the reason humanity has dominated the planet for so long. It is our desires that have led us to make

new discoveries. Yes, I’m greedy. Unapologetically so and proud of it. But this time, my greed may help others. You must know

what’s happening to men like us all over New York and San Francisco. They’re dying. Maybe together we can help them.”

“Don’t!” Archie blurts out. “Don’t you dare pretend you care about our community when you subjected us to torture—to unimaginable

things.”

“The men dying now are just like the boys we knew in Boston,” I say.

“You sold them out back then, and you’ll sell them out today.

You don’t care about helping anyone but yourself.

” I feel my heart pound. I want to escape this horrible bathroom so badly.

The smell of my own vomit is making me sick again.

“I’m not the one who turned those poor boys in at Harvard,” he says. “I’m not some serial killer. Nor am I responsible for

whatever is killing the queens of New York and San Francisco. I don’t make the rules. I simply play the game.”

“Men like you and your father made all the rules,” I say.

He pulls out a black leather wallet from the inside of his trench coat. “Here’s a little pocket money to gain your trust.”

“We don’t want your money,” I snap.

Bram takes it. Counts the bills. More money than we’re used to seeing at once.

“Bram!” I yell.

Bram looks at me and shrugs. “We have no choice. It’s checkmate. We may as well get on with it.” Bram turns to Jack. “You’ll

need to give me your hands.”

“My hands?” Jack asks. “Why?”

“So I can cut them, of course,” Bram says.

“Cut my hands?” Jack asks. “Are you insane?”

A strange, raspy laugh comes from Bram. He’s up to something. “Of course I’m insane. I’ve been seventeen years old for almost

a century now. That would make anyone insane. Now if you want me to gift you eternal youth, I’ll need your hands.”

Jack holds the cane tighter in his grip. His arm trembles. The blade does too. Archie holds his breath. “Pages,” Jack says.

“You said something about mysterious pages. What do my hands—”

“It’s just your lifeline I need,” Bram explains. I look at him curiously. Impressed and also a little revolted by him. By how quickly the duplicitous part of his mind works. “The magic paper works by cutting the lifeline of each palm.”

“What makes it magic?” Jack asks. “Can it be duplicated? Mass produced?”

“Do you want immortality or endless conversation?” Bram responds calmly.

“Show me this magic paper!” Jack commands.

“It’s in my pocket,” Bram shoots back. “Now show me your palms.”

“At three!” I blurt out.

Everyone looks at me. “All right then, at three,” Jack agrees.

I count down. One. Two.

At three, Jack puts the cane down and raises his palms up. Bram reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of poppers

Lily makes us carry for safety. He throws it at Jack’s eyes.

“WHAT IS THAT?” Jack rubs his burning eyes.

“RUN!” Bram yells.

I grab the cane and unlock the door. I let Archie out first. Then Bram. Before leaving, I turn to Jack with fire in my eyes.

“I lied,” I say. “I did hate you. I still do.”

“I’ll find you!” Jack shouts.

“Oliver, hurry!” Bram yells from the corridor.

I can’t leave yet. My eyes glued to Jack, I speak my thoughts with breathless clarity. “All this time, Bram and I never even

considered using our eternal youth for power or profit. All we wanted was to be alive in a time where we could love freely.

An age without hate and greed and injustice. But now I know such a time will never come. Do you know why?”

“OH SHUT UP,” Jack yells, still in pain.

“Because of people like you. As long as there are humans, there will be—”

Jack yelps in agony. Then screams, “I’ll hunt you down until I die. I’ll tell my children to hunt you down after that. You will NEVER be safe.”

“Oliver! Now!” Archie hollers.

We rush past revelers dancing away the first day of a new year. Past pubs full of beer drinkers. Chants of Happy New Year. Across the bridge. Past a group of adolescents blasting Spandau Ballet from a boom box. Music born out of the blitz of our

lives. Oh, look at the strange boy. He finds it hard existing. To cut a long story short. I lost my mind.

Past piles of trash. Past last year’s last newspapers blowing in the wind. My eyes land on headlines that will either shape

futures or be forgotten. Martial law in Poland. Redistricting in New York. Sanctions against the Soviet Union. Water pollution.

Record high unemployment in the Netherlands. The first test-tube baby born in Virginia. More gay men dying mysteriously.

“Is anyone behind us?” Bram asks.

Archie looks back. “I don’t think so,” he says.

“Keep running!” I yell.

We go forward. There’s no going back anymore. If we had any innocence left, it’s gone now. We run past the river that flows

into the North Sea, south toward what I know is our home no longer. Life will be escape again. Happiness is past tense.